


Scenes

by Ayame_no_kimi



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Aftercare, Angst, Asexual Kylo Ren, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bloodplay, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, Clamps - Freeform, Dominance, Dominant Hux, Electricity, Fluff, Gags, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Past Abuse, Possessive Hux, Predicament Bondage, Sadism, Sadistic Hux, Safe Sane and Consensual, Submission, Submissive Kylo Ren, Suspension, Triggers, Voyeurism, Whipping, and maybe sometimes even a bit of, but still no sex, can you call it play when he actually uses the knife?, hux likes to hear himself talking, little bit of, mentions of trauma, occasional references to canon, recreational torture, there is no sex in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayame_no_kimi/pseuds/Ayame_no_kimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spill-over of another WIP. Basically a bunch of ideas for BDSM scenes mashed together. Everything that happens is consensual, meaning Kylo Ren wants it, asks for it, and knows how to get out of a scene if he needs to. I'll write more about implied consent and safewords/safe-signs later.<br/>I wanted to try this out and see how it works. These are crazy, weird ideas, that might work or not.<br/>If you feel comfortable leaving feedback, I'd greatly appreciate it. No pressure, though, I just hope you'll enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There Could Be Tears

**Captain Phasma's Log**

People always think he is joking.

When they ask him, “Sir, have you seen Kylo Ren?”

And Hux lifts his beeper and answers, “He is still tied up in my rooms and he hasn’t activated his emergency call yet, so I assume he is still content with that. Is it urgent?”

Nobody believes that Kylo Ren could actually be tied up in General Hux’s quarters. They take it as a hint to go search for themselves instead of bothering the boss, so that’s what they usually do.

I know better of course. I have known Hux for years and I know that over the years there have been enough people for whom that scenario could have been true. At least parts of it.

One day, after one of those incidents, I decide to go with my curiosity and ask him.

“Have you changed your methods? There were times you’d never leave your sub alone in a room without any observation.”

“That rule still stands,” Hux answers. He takes out his datapad and shows me a live video feed from his room I will never be able to unsee. “I monitor his vitals, too,” Hux adds and switches off the screen. “And he can contact me if he needs to get out.”

“So still everything as it were, hm?”

“You know me, Phasma. And Kylo Ren… there is so much to work with. Did you know he has terrible abandonment issues?”

“And you abandon him,” I point out. “How sweet of you.”

Hux shakes his head. “He witnesses everything I do. I have video feed, he has audio feed. He so doesn’t like it when I tell people the truth about where he is. They never believe me, of course, but he is always terrified that someday someone will. It’s exhilarating.”

It explains why Hux seems to get off on talking about Ren with so much condescension recently whenever Ren isn’t around. Why he looks positively gleeful whenever he mentions how pathetic he thinks Ren is for a former Jedi, how much better anybody else would be with a lightsaber, and how Ren really is the most useless of all the men in the First Order. I have heard people talk about how they do not want to be in the same room with the general the moment Ren finds out about Hux’s insolence and enacts his revenge. But with Hux things rarely are as they seem.

“So now he knows I know,” I remark.

Hux nods. “Imagine the humiliation. His captain of all people. To know how very much he gets off on being tied up and left for hours, on being treated to lashes and cutting, anything that hurts, really, to get down before me and degrade himself in front of…”

“That’s enough,” I interrupt. “I will not be dragged into your little play just so you can have your fun with him. Do that with one of the other officers. I will leave you to your matters.”

I turn around and walk away.

“You’re ruining a beautiful opportunity here, Phasma!” Hux calls after me. “Don’t you want to see his face all helpless and red in embarrassment when he whinges to me about it? There could be tears… and you’re just walking away, like it doesn’t turn you on at all…!”

I ignore him.

Hux is both a sadist and a control-freak. He prefers victims who submit to him voluntarily. According to him, they are much more fun to play with and they last longer.

I don’t know how word gets out. He doesn’t allow his subs to talk about it. Yet, it happens often enough. Somebody comes up to him and asks him to make them part of his little play.

And now he’s got his claws in Kylo Ren.

This could be interesting.


	2. I Came To Him

**Captain Phasma's Log**

It is coincidence that I detect the tell-tale bruise of a rope burn on Kylo Ren’s wrist the next time I encounter him during workout. When I point it out to him his face flames up beet-red and he clasps his other hand around the wrist.

“Sweatbands,” I recommend to him. He doesn’t look at me. He hasn’t looked at me ever since Hux and I had our little talk about their agreement.

I should just let it go. It is none of my business, really. But the way he averts his face, cheeks flushed, fingers around his wrist, it does something to me. This man, who is stronger than everyone else. Muscles refined as though chiselled in white marble. Able to throw a man across the room, stop a blaster shot, or tear a person’s secrets out of their mind with a flick of his hand. And yet he cannot bear the thought of having another person know this other side of him. It makes me want to pry.

“He is usually able to do this without leaving marks,” I remark.

“Oh, no, I asked him to do it this way,” Ren replies. He looks down at his wrist. His slender fingers stroke almost lovingly across the bruise, following the little twist in the middle with gentle care.

The motion leaves me staring in fascination. What is going on with this man who becomes so embarrassed by the sheer mentioning of his pastime, yet seems so ready to engage in it without restraint?

“I think I am beginning to see why he chose you,” I say.

He lifts his head to glance at me. “He didn’t. I came to him.”

“Sure you did. But do you honestly believe he accepts everyone who asks? He takes great care in selecting his subs.”

Ren shakes his head. He looks uncomfortable, but less embarrassed than before. His fingers still absentmindedly caress the bruise. “Have you ever done it?”

“No. But we practically shared a room at the Academy, since my own roommate was insufferable. I happened to be around several of his subs while he was doing sessions. Sometimes I’d help out with the heavy stuff, since he is so small and frail.”

He isn’t, of course. Compared to average humans, Hux is still tall. Except that neither Ren nor I are average.

It is none of my business, though. I don’t have the right to ask Ren about what Hux does to him and why Ren even came to Hux in the first place.

Eventually I just say, “I’ll leave you to your workout,” and leave.

The next day Ren wears sweatbands around his wrists.


	3. He doesn't Do That

**Captain Phasma's Log**

“We don’t have anyone assigned to the torture chambers in the next weeks, do we,” Hux addresses me several days later.

“Not unless someone new comes in,” I respond. I try to feign surprise. The chambers – official designation ‘information retrieval chambers’ – are quite the useful tool, not just for torture. Chairs that allow to restrain a person completely, blindfolds, gags, instruments to cause pain without leaving any permanent damage... while being, of course, perfectly sound-proof.

I watch as Hux signs himself in on chamber one. He leaves the name slot for his ‘client’ blank.

“Is that why you ordered the new chair?” I ask.

“Of course not,” Hux replies, satisfaction giving his face the expression of a cat with a fat fish in its claws. A helplessly struggling fish that nevertheless got itself caught willingly.

“It’s quite remarkable, though,” Hux continues. “I have never met a person with a pain threshold that high. He must have had kick-ass endurance training. Often enough it takes me hours just to wear him out enough to stop his automatic reflexes. For the record, I do not like being Force-thrown across the room, no matter how many times he insists it was accidentally.”

I chuckle. I have witnessed it during training more than once. Kylo Ren’s reflexes are excellent. He does not tolerate people touching him. It is practically impossible to get close enough, anyway, because he immediately and instinctively lashes out at everyone who tries. How Hux has managed to break through that I barely dare imagine.

And yet, curiosity gets the better of me once again.

“So it’s not just tying him up and leaving him alone while you badmouth him in front of everyone else. What purpose does that serve exactly, anyway?”

Hux grins at me. “Foreplay. There is a certain allure to it, you have to understand. For him to know that he cannot move, cannot act, cannot influence anything that happens. He is still part of it, sure, as he still witnesses everything that is going on. But since there is nothing he can do, all that is left for him is to relinquish control. It is quite liberating, you know, the confirmation that even when he logs out for a few hours nothing bad happens. Things go on without him.”

“Liberating,” I repeat.

“Liberating. Furthermore, it gets him into a state of mind in which I can work with him properly. He becomes so very submissive after I have left him like that for a while. An hour, no more. Suddenly he changes from taciturn and uncooperative to compliant, with quite the desire to please me. Like I said, foreplay.”

I know Hux. Chances are he doesn’t mean foreplay in quite the way everyone else does. “Do you fuck him, too?”

As expected Hux shakes his head. “You know I don’t like to mix these two. He doesn’t do that, anyway.”

“Do what? Fuck men?”

“Anybody.”

I nod and turn to the monitor in front of us. It shows all the units deployed on Base right now. I will have to get down there soon. “Is it a Jedi thing?”

“No. He just doesn’t do it. He says he’s never felt the desire.”

I raise my eyebrows at Hux. “Well, I suppose that’s convenient for you. At least that’s a mess you won’t have to deal with when it comes to Ren.”

It has happened often enough in the past. His subs developing a desire for more. Whatever this more might entail; sex, love, romance... Hux has always broken it off the instance they started expressing those desires.

I look back at the monitor. I have promised my men to oversee exercises today. “I need to get down there.”

“It’s rare, though, with you,” Hux remarks with a smirk. “You don’t usually show much interest in my sessions. It put a lot of my subs at ease for some reason. If you really want to know, I could always do with an assistant. Ren isn’t exactly a lightweight.”

It is surprising enough to me that I actually consider it. Not only because of Ren. Watching Hux handle his subs with his precise care gives me a weird satisfaction, like watching a smith wielding a piece of molten red iron, moulding it into shape with controlled strokes of his hammer. Or any master at his handiwork, really. And with Ren, it is bound to be something special...

I shake my head. “I don’t think he’d agree to that. You could join me with the troop exercises, though.”

Hux points at the three men waiting in respectful distance for him. “Does it look like I have the time? The Starkiller is a demanding mistress, Phasma. She claims my attention fully and at all times.”


	4. I Hate Torturing Prisoners

**Captain Phasma's Log**

****

Except that somehow I nevertheless end up being dragged into Hux’s mess. Again.

A young man from the maintenance staff approaches me. He is pale and fidgeting, a thin film of sweat above his brow.

“Captain, I can’t find General Hux anywhere.”

I am almost tempted to say “Torture chambers,” when I remember why that might be a bad idea.

“Have you tried his com-link?” I ask instead.

“Several times. He doesn’t answer.”

Right. That happens. Hux tends to get in the zone during his sessions, sometimes so deeply that he doesn’t notice anything that doesn’t have to do with his sub.

“How urgent is it?”

The man raises the order form he is clenching. “Very urgent, Captain. The general commanded me to submit this today and orders close in thirty minutes. I can’t submit it tomorrow, the general will kill me.”

He gives me a desperate puppy-eye stare. He is not exaggerating. He really is terrified for his life if he doesn’t follow the general’s orders. Hux tends to have this effect on his subordinates.

“Give it to me,” I say. “I’ll get him to sign it and submit it in time. I am taking full responsibility. You are dismissed.”

The man almost starts sobbing.

I don’t bother with knocking. If Hux didn’t hear the calls from his com-link, chances are he won’t hear knocking. I open the door, quietly step inside, and close it again.

I am not sure what I expected. Kylo Ren on the chair, probably. He is not on the chair. Instead, he is hanging suspended several centimetres above the chair. A leather harness around chest and shoulders, and another one around his waist and thighs keep him in suspension from several thick ropes connected to durosteel rings on the ceiling. That is not all, though. Thin, sharp hooks pierced through Ren’s skin and strung up at the ceiling keep his thighs, arms, even his neck up. The hooks are placed at strategic spots to make sure they don’t cause nerve damage or pierce a larger artery, but even so they must hurt like hell as soon as the slightest pressure is put on them. Which means that they force Ren to keep his limbs and his head strained upwards at all times. It’s a combination of concentration and muscle strength that is bound to exhaust him within minutes. The foot-, arm-, and headrests of the chair below Ren are positioned barely a centimetre below his limbs. Even if he were to lose consciousness and relax the strain, the chair would catch him before the hooks could seriously tear his flesh.

I have to admit, I gape a bit. This is something I have never before seen Hux do. Few people would be able to endure it. Ren is keeping perfectly still, head tilted back, arms and legs spread. He is still wearing boxers and a thin shirt. It is impossible to see his expression. He is blindfolded and wearing a small, black rod as a gag. It forces his teeth open. Trails of saliva run across his cheek and drip onto the floor. He is completely immobilized and at Hux’s mercy.

That I didn’t expect. I didn’t expect Ren to allow Hux to go this far. I certainly didn’t expect him to allow anyone to see him like this.

Hux is standing at Ren’s left shoulder. He is massaging slow circles into Ren’s skin.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Pay more heed to your right side. Especially the leg. You know it will hurt less if you balance your weight properly. Sometimes I think that you strain yourself on purpose. It makes me wonder whether I hurt you enough.” He keeps his eyes on Ren’s face, and his hand on Ren’s skin to offer him some distraction and a touch to anchor him. “Have you reached the bottom yet? All light is gone and all you feel now is the pressure of the air around you.” Hux slides the index finger of his other hand into Ren’s palm. “Are you still with me, pet?”

In response to that Ren squeezes his finger once.

“Good,” Hux mutters. He sweeps his gaze across Ren’s body. When he withdraws his index finger he rests it on Ren’s wrist for a minute, checking the pulse. “Good boy. You’re doing so well.”

Hux looks up and sees me. He pulls his lips into a thin smile. “Would you look at that,” he says conversationally. “We have a visitor, pet.”

Ren flinches. A suppressed wail escapes his mouth. I am certain most others would have screamed in pain.

“Hush now, calm down, pet,” Hux says without changing his gentle, quiet tone. “It’s just Phasma. She doesn’t judge and she doesn’t tell. Isn’t that right?”

He is demanding verbal affirmation. “That is right,” I respond. Ren has stopped moving again. He is unreadable, which doesn’t seem to bother Hux.

“Still, Phasma should know that I cannot allow an audience without my sub’s explicit consent,” Hux continues calmly.

“Tough,” I say. “You should have thought of that before you decided to become general and ignore every attempt to reach you on your com-link.”

Hux raises an eyebrow and checks the com-link at his shoulder. “Oh my. It seems like this one is on me, after all. My apologies. What do you want to do now, pet? Do you want to stop? It would be a shame, though. You didn’t even notice her come in. Didn’t hear her, didn’t even sense her presence. That is rare for you. You are usually jumpy like a nervous horse. You’re so deep below the surface right now, I’d like to keep you there a bit longer. And she has seen you already, anyway. There is nothing more she can do. What do you say? Do you want me to continue?”

His finger lies in Ren’s hand again. Ren squeezes once, again. Hux smiles fondly, then looks at me.

“Very well. What do you need?”

I hand him the order form. “Your signature. I have a crying maintenance man on my bridge and since you have forbidden me to forge your signature after the two-hundred-thousand-blaster incident three years ago…”

“That’s right,” Hux muses. “You know, I told them later that I have never signed that order form. They didn’t believe me. Your skills in forgery terrified me a bit.”

I cannot take my eyes off Ren. He cannot talk, he cannot see, all he can do is listen and wait for Hux to continue. All the while he has to keep the balance between his limbs, keep his muscles strained, and let the drool run over his face, because he cannot control it. He doesn’t even feel the floor beneath him, only the pull of gravity. There is barely anything Hux could do to restrain him more. And yet he doesn’t struggle or protest. It is impossible to guess what is going on inside him right now and yet there is nothing I’d love to know more in this instant.

“You’re so beautiful right now, pet,” Hux says quietly while he scans the order. “If only you could see the way she looks at you. She can’t take her eyes off of you. You know, I have had Phasma sit in on so many of my sessions. Whenever I didn’t need her assistance, she’d spend the time studying. Wouldn’t even look up. She’d miss the most curious expressions, positions, reactions… but with you, she cannot look away. You have managed to enrapture even her. That is how beautiful you look right now. I don’t think she has expected this. She probably didn’t even know that these chairs are movable and that there are rings and hooks in the wall and the ceiling to suspend prisoners from there. You know why she didn’t know that, pet? Because Phasma doesn’t like torture. She really doesn’t.”

“Neither do you,” I remind him and Hux smiles again. He signs the form and hands it back to me. His fingers immediately find Ren’s skin again and gently rub his arm.

“That is right. Did you even know that about me, pet? I hate torturing prisoners. I always leave that to my subordinates when I can. Where is the fun in torturing someone who doesn’t even know how to play along? You on the other hand… I could do anything to you right now. And I think she wants to see that. She wants to watch me hurt you while you can’t fight back. You’re beautiful when you’re defenceless, and so very at my mercy. However, I am afraid I cannot allow that. I’d have to have you agree to it and you’re in no position to do that at the moment. I will have to ask her to leave.”

“I am leaving,” I say. “I have to submit this anyway.”

I cast one last look at Ren. Still impossible to read. He has to like it, though, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. Hux has moved his fingers from Ren’s shoulder to his throat. He strokes it lazily. It’s a possessive gesture, one that is supposed to remind Ren how vulnerable he is right now and to underline his complete surrender. A tremble runs through Ren from head to toe. And then he tilts his chin just a bit further up, exposes his throat just a bit more… the man who won’t even allow anyone to lay a hand on his arm when he is fully dressed and in complete control of his body.

Hux looks up at me and smirks.

I turn around and leave the room.


	5. Piece of Art

**Captain Phasma's Log**

I apologize to Kylo Ren the next day.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. He usually keeps his com-link on alert, but he didn’t want to risk startling me, so he switched it to mute. Next time I will tell him to leave it on.”

He is wearing his mask. Once again it is impossible to read his expression, except that this time it is for the exact opposite reasons. He is choosing to wear the mask to keep the world away from him. It undeniably has a powerful effect; most subordinates are terrified by it. Dark, grim, unapproachable – this is the Kylo Ren everybody knows. This is the face he chooses to show the world. It is a part of him, as much as his lightsaber and his ability to wield the Force at will. The man of whom I caught a glimpse in that chamber – the image that keeps flashing back to me – was anything but that. He was stripped of everything that made Kylo Ren Kylo Ren. Not even to mention the mask and the lightsaber, he surrendered much more than that. Control, the ability to act and to react… On some level I can understand why he does it. He struggles with his position and the responsibilities that come with it. He might be more powerful than the rest of us, yet it is not hard to see that he also bears more pressure than anyone else to fulfil the expectations of our Supreme Commander.

And Hux, who is usually so careful not to leave lasting marks… because that, as he puts it, would be proof of some kind of commitment on his side. Commitment he is not willing to offer.

“Doesn’t it take long to heal?” I ask.

Ren shakes his head. “Not if you know how to treat it.” He takes off his glove and rolls back his sleeve a bit to show me the thin bandages around his wrist. “It barely even bled.”

I remember. I don’t think there was enough blood on any of the wounds to form even a single drop.

He tilts the face of his mask towards me. “You knew he has done this for a long time.”

“Yes,” I say.

“You used to assist him.”

“Out of pity. He is so very weak. There is just no dignity in his attempts to handle a body slightly heavier than his.”

“But you never felt the desire to have him do it to you, neither were you interested in what it did to his…”

“Subs,” I say. “I liked to watch him. I am not a sadist, and I am most certainly not a masochist. But I do admire work well done. Just as I enjoy handling a blaster that is crafted masterfully, or watch a planned attack that is executed perfectly, watching Hux work through one of his sessions is a thing of beauty. He knows exactly what he is doing and he does it well. He turns it into a piece of art. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ren turns away. “That is one way to put it.”

“I really don’t want to pry,” I lie. “But if you wouldn’t mind… I’d like to assist some time. Hux always likes it when he has an assistant. It allows him to concentrate fully on the relevant aspects. But eventually it is you who has to agree to that. He won’t allow me in there if you don’t consent to it.”

For a while Ren doesn’t say a word. “Nobody else can know,” he says eventually. “I’d lose all my authority…”

“I will not tell a single person,” I say. “I never have. I am the only one Hux has ever confided in. He trusts me, if that helps. And I don’t judge. Back at the Academy, some of the people who came to Hux… they weren’t all fellow students, you know. Teachers, generals, long before Hux was even close to becoming general. We had to obey these men’s every command, show perfect compliance. Yet when they were in his room, they all let him do to them whatever he wanted. There is nothing shameful about that. They were capable men, all of them.”

Ren shakes his head. “That is easy for you to say. But if he allows you to stay and assist, then that is fine, I suppose.”

Maybe it is coincidence. But I cannot help but notice that I haven’t heard Kylo Ren utter Hux’s name a single time during those little talks of ours.


	6. Do You Think You Don't Deserve It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Implied Consent: As in most BDSM scenes words that would usually withdraw consent ("no", "don't", "stop") are used within the scene as part of the play and do not mean a withdrawal of consent and a wish to end the play. There are safewords and safe-signs in place for that. You can assume that everything going on is still consensual. However, if it is triggering to you that somebody ignores words like that, even if the context makes it consensual, I suggest you skip chapters with the tag "implied consent".

**Captain Phasma's Log**

When Hux offers me to sit in as his assistant it is on a quiet, early afternoon in his own rooms instead of the torture chambers.

When I arrive Kylo Ren is already there. He is stripped to his boxers, his long black curls tied back loosely. Hux has transformed the space at the foot of his bed into his own little playground. The durosteel wall and ceiling fashion metal rings and a pulley connected to a crank at the wall.

Hux, down to a light shirt and trousers, is standing in front of the open cabinet at the wall opposite the bed. It holds his equipment. Collars, leashes, whips, knifes, sounds, ropes, leather straps, blindfolds, gags, long stripes of soft cloth, all of it topped off with maintenance oil, cleaning agents and gloves... He has accumulated quite the collection over the years. He takes a pair of leather handcuffs out. They are lined with thick felt on the inside to minimise chafing, and connected to each other by a metal rod, about two fists apart.

To my surprise he hands them to Ren, who immediately puts them on. When Hux connects them to two thick ropes that run over the pulley to the crank, it doesn’t escape my attention how careful he is not to touch Ren’s skin.

“Alright,” Hux says eventually and turns to me. “Let’s see if we can tire you out a bit, pet, shall we? Hoist him up, Phasma. Slowly. No touching.”

The pulley makes it easier. For me it is barely an effort. For Hux it must be quite the endeavour. He doesn’t work out. He doesn’t have much upper body strength to rely on.

I turn the crank slowly, waiting for Hux to signal me to stop. The ropes pull Ren’s hands above his head, then pull him up onto his toes. When his toes barely touch the floor anymore, Hux finally gives me a wave of his hand. I stop turning the crank and it automatically locks into place.

Hux turns back to his cabinet and takes out a curious little construction. He puts something on the floor that looks like a thick mat, barely broad enough for one person to stand on it. He uncoils two wires stuck to the mat and pulls a metal clamp out of his pocket. He steps behind Ren and clamps one of the two wires to a skinfold on Ren’s lower back, just below the ribs. Then he takes out two more clamps and repeats the action below Ren’s left shoulder blade and on his left shoulder at the beginning of his neck. The two wires connect to a thin metal plate at the end, barely the size of a thumbnail. Hux walks around Ren, wires in hand, and lays a finger to Ren’s lips. For an instant I could swear Ren flinches away from the touch. But then he opens his mouth and Hux slides the plate onto Ren’s tongue. He takes a scarf out of his other pocket and ties it around Ren’s mouth. Finally he kneels down and puts a pair of shackles around Ren’s ankles that keep him from spreading his legs apart.

“Feet up,” he commands. Ren obeys and pulls himself upwards on the cuffs. Hux pushes the mat beneath Ren’s feet and stands up again. “Now this is a terribly simple construction,” he says. “Put more weight than one hundred grams on the mat and you activate a switch that closes the circuit. You will feel the shocks along your entire spine and in your mouth. The last one is particularly nasty. The first few times will still feel more or less bearable, but after a while it begins to wear on you. And if it doesn’t – well, we are still far from the highest voltage setting. How you keep yourself away from the mat is up to you, but let’s face it, you will soon find out that your options are limited.”

Hux takes a small button out of his pocket and slides it into Ren’s hand. “And lastly your get-out. But remember, if you push this, we will be done for today. Have fun.” He turns to me. “Now to more important things. I have received the weekly report from the training camp in the Borderlands. I want to change a few things there. Let’s work through that.”

We sit down at Hux’s desk and start on the report. Most of his suggestions are ridiculous, of course, because Hux doesn’t spend enough time with the regular soldiers and has no idea what they need in their training sessions. I haggle him down, or rather try to manipulate my own ideas onto him. It’s the old dance we have been dancing for years now.

It seems like Hux is completely submersed into our discussion. Except that every time Kylo Ren moves he turns his head and every time Ren activates the circuit his voice turns monotone and he stalls our talk with empty phrases while he concentrates on Ren.

For almost three hours Ren patiently alternates between about twenty minutes of pulling himself up on his arms and thirty minutes of keeping his legs bent. He accidentally activates the circuit two times, but he doesn’t make a noise. After that he begins to tire. He changes position more often and at less regular intervals and almost every time his feet sink onto the mat long enough to press the switch. His breathing turns heavy. His entire body glistens from the currents of sweat running down from his temple and his arms. After four hours he starts trembling. I begin to understand why Hux has started the session in the early afternoon. Hux himself doesn’t seem bothered with anything that is going on at all. I know it’s a facade. He never keeps his eyes off his sub. After five hours Ren is shaking and can’t keep his feet off the mat for more than a few minutes at a time. Each time the electric current runs through his spine and inside his mouth, his breathing turns shallow and fast. From time to time he fails to suppress a whine. More than once I look up to make sure the emergency switch has not slid out of his hand and dropped to the floor. It is unlikely that Hux would have missed that, but I cannot help but think if he still had it, he would have pressed it by now. He hasn’t. He is still grasping it firmly and is still refusing to use it.

After six hours there is nothing more to talk about. Ren is a panting, shivering mess. A pool of sweat has collected beneath his feet around the mat. The scarf over his mouth is drenched in saliva. I am fairly certain beneath it he cannot keep his mouth closed anymore. The shocks that are coming at intervals of less than a minute now have numbed all feeling in his jaw, tongue and lips. His eyes are closed. The rich black curls cling wet to his head and neck. From time to time a spasm convulses his entire body. His muscles must have been cramping for hours now. His panting is audible, accompanied by weak mewls.

I look at Hux. Hux returns my stare and smirks. Then he stands up.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s take a look at our patient, shall we?”

He pulls the mat away from beneath Ren’s feet and takes off the shackles. “You can let him down. Slowly.”

I loosen the crank and slowly, very slowly turn it. As soon as Ren has sunk to his feet Hux stretches out his hand. “Stop.” I stop.

Hux unties the scarf and drops it into a little box he has ready next to the cabinet. As expected Ren’s mouth hangs open. Hux pulls the metal plate from his tongue. Then he lays his thumbs on both sides of Ren’s jaw and massages it gently.

“Can you stand, pet?” he asks softly. Ren nods. Hux looks at me. “Go on.”

I crank Ren down a bit further. He staggers, but he doesn’t fall. When his arms are halfway bent above his head, Hux stops me again. He steps behind Ren, takes off the clamps, and rubs the red, irritated skin beneath. Then he returns to Ren’s front, lays a hand on Ren’s cheek, and strokes away the wet curls.

“Good,” Hux mutters. He is standing close to Ren now, offers support with his body. Almost against his will Ren begins to lean into him. “Very good. Now this is the way I like you. You’re so exhausted, you don’t even flinch anymore when I touch you. This I can work with. Phasma will let you down entirely now, won’t she? And then I will allow you to lie down, maybe even get you some water, won’t that be nice? Are you thirsty, pet?”

As I let his arms down entirely, Ren nods again.

Hux opens the cuffs and rubs Ren’s wrists vigorously a few times. Despite the soft lining and the good workmanship of the cuffs they have left deep, purple cuts in the flesh. “Just a bit longer, pet. I want to get your blood flowing again before I let you drink. Come on, lie down on the bed.”

“I can help,” I offer, but Hux shakes his head.

“Sit back. He can walk alone, can’t you, pet?”

Ren closes and opens his mouth a few times, then whispers, “Yes,” in a barely audible rasp. Hux leads him to the bed and gently nudges him to lie down on his back. Hux sits down next to his shoulder, legs crossed, facing me.

“Now the fun part begins,” he says gently. “Phasma, hand me the flask on the nightstand, will you?”

I oblige. Inside the flask swirls lazily a shimmering golden liquid. Hux takes it, pulls out the plug, and pours some of the oily liquid onto his hand.

“Right about now your limbs should be hurting like hellfire itself,” he says conversationally to Ren, while rubbing his hands together to spread the oil. And quite so Ren is shaking even more violently than during the bondage. “It’s unavoidable when you are forced into such a position for so long. And you had to fight so hard to keep yourself away from the floor, pet. The exhaustion is only the beginning. There is the cramping, the shaking, the dizziness and nausea when your body starts getting used to the blood flow again.”

Hux lifts Ren’s arm into his lap. He starts at the fingers, massages them with all the tenderness in the Galaxy, and presses his thumb in slow circles into Ren’s palm. “The thing is, you really don’t know how to deal with this, do you, pet?” Hux continues. Ren has closed his eyes. His expression has turned unreadable again, but it looks far from relaxed. He is still breathing heavily. “If you had the strength you would yank away your arm and bring as much distance between yourself and me as possible, isn’t that right? With things as they are, however, you are too weak to do anything and it’s leaving you in agony. To be caressed by somebody without knowing the reason. Why should anybody be that gentle to you? There must be some ulterior motive for somebody to treat you like this, surely? To be treated this gently… without being able to do anything about it, without being able to react, to counter it, to get your defences up… this terrifies you more than any kind of pain I could be causing you, doesn’t it?” Hux has moved on to Ren’s wrist. He spends quite a while there, rubbing the deep blue cut out of it, getting the blood flowing again. Ren has turned his face away from me. He is still shivering, though.

“Yes,” Hux says quietly. “You came for the pain and instead you are getting this. It turns aftercare into quite the challenge, you not being able to take gentle caring. Don’t get me wrong, pet, I love hurting you. You are able to take it so well.” He strokes his thumb firmly along Ren’s forearm until he has reached the nook of Ren’s elbow. “But you can’t expect me to play with you and not try and find out what devastates you the most. This… this tenderness without cause… simply being caressed and all I ask of you is that you take it… it’s worse than being tied down and sliced up, isn’t it?”

Ren inhales a shaking sob. “Stop,” he whispers. “Please stop.”

“It will hurt so much longer if I don’t rub it, pet,” Hux says in an endearing hum. “Are you willing to take that pain?” He moves on to the shoulder. He treats it with practiced kneads, while his eyes don’t leave Ren’s face.

Ren is sobbing openly now. He strains his face away from me, but his entire body is shaking, and each breath is a wet gasp. “Yes. Give me the pain. I don’t care about the pain. But please, don’t do this, don’t give me…” He is still slurring his words, lips and tongue still numb from the shocks.

Hux is done with the shoulder. He rises from his sitting position, climbs to the edge of the bed, sits down again and starts on the fingers of Ren’s other arm. “Don’t give you what? What are you so afraid of? That someday I might demand back all that I am giving you now? Or do you dread the moment I will stop being gentle and give you nothing but coldness again so much that you can’t help but beg for it to come as soon as possible? Do you think you don’t deserve it? Do you think you don’t deserve to be treated gently by another person?”

I am not prone to bouts of pity. But listening to the desperate sobs that are shaking Ren’s entire body in response to Hux’s words makes it almost impossible even for me to keep my face straight. I don’t know how Hux does it. Except that he is a sadist. His eyes are shimmering in a strange light as he stares at Ren’s face. He is getting off on this. Tears, agony, pain. Hux loves it.

“That’s right,” Hux says quietly. “Last time I did this with you, you lashed out and threw me against the wall. No chance of that happening this time, is there? You are too exhausted, even to accidentally activate the Force. If I gave you a choice, what would you prefer? If I offered to lash you right now, your front, your back, your pretty little arse, your thighs, until every single fleck of your skin has turned red and swollen and is bleeding. Would you ask me to do it, simply to stop me from doing this to you?”

“Yes,” Ren sobs without hesitation.

Hux smiles down on him. “You poor, poor thing,” he mutters. He strokes his index finger across Ren’s cheek, lifts it to his lips, and licks it. “My poor, sweet thing, look at you. No, don’t hide your face. Let me see it. I want to remember it this way, remember what you looked like when you were utterly undone. I have taken you apart, haven’t I? I could cut into your chest and carve out your flesh until I had your heart beating between my fingers and still I wouldn’t have you as open and vulnerable as you are now. I’ll need Phasma’s help for a moment, to take the datapad and take an image of your face like this. I won’t show it to anyone, I just want to keep it for myself. As a reminder that there is this side of you.”

Hux has laid his hand on Ren’s cheek and gently forces Ren to turn his face upwards. Tears are streaming from his eyes and his lips are parted in a look of utter abandon. I do as Hux has asked of me. Ren doesn’t protest. He doesn’t look at me, either. When Hux continues to massage the blood back into his arm and the cramps out of his muscles, he closes his eyes.

“Very well,” Hux mutters when he is finally done. “You must be starving for water by now. It’s here already, on the nightstand. You have almost deserved it. All you need to do now is ask me for it, pet. Ask, ‘May I have some water, please?’ and you can have it all.”

Ren turns his face towards Hux. “Please,” he whispers again.

Hux shakes his head. “’Please’ it not a full sentence. Speak to me, pet. Ask me. You know I won’t deny you. I know you need the water. But do you need it enough to ask for it?”

Something is going on. I am not quite sure I am getting every aspect of it. Ren keeps staring at Hux’s face and Hux calmly returns the gaze.

Finally Ren closes his eyes. “May I… please…”

“Look at me, pet,” Hux says quietly. “Look at me while you ask me. I want you to see exactly who you’re asking for water. Open your eyes.”

Ren obeys. When he opens his eyes again, they are dark, clouded. I know this look. He is sinking beneath the surface. He is sinking to a place where he can finally let go. “May I please have some water?”

Hux smiles at him. “Well done,” he whispers and some of the tension in Ren’s face softens. He stretches out his hand, without taking his eyes off of Ren. “Phasma, the glass of water, please.”

I stand up and hand Hux the glass. He balances it on his knee with one hand and dips two fingers of his other hand into the water.

Hux holds his dripping fingers over Ren’s mouth. When the first drop hits his lips, they part automatically. His tongue darts out to catch the water. Hux lowers his fingers against Ren’s lips and Ren slides his tongue along the fingers. Hux pulls them back, dips them into the water again, then presses them against Ren’s lips. When Ren opens his mouth, Hux pushes both fingers inside. He lets Ren suck on them, then repeats the gesture. Ren doesn’t seem to mind submitting himself to the touch. He licks and sucks every drop of water from Hux’s fingers, opening his mouth more eagerly each time. After a while Hux lifts the glass to his own mouth, takes a sip, and bows down. He opens his lips against Ren’s and lets the water spill straight into Ren’s mouth. Trails of water run down Ren’s cheeks as he swallows. Hux raises himself up and swipes a thumb across Ren’s cheek to catch the drops. He takes another sip and again makes Ren swallow it right from his own mouth.

When the glass is empty, Ren has calmed down quite a bit. His sobs have died down, his breathing has returned to normal, and the shaking is barely visible now. Hux hands me the glass, takes a small towel from the nightstand, and wipes Ren’s face clean from tears, water, and saliva.

“Alright, pet,” Hux says quietly. “We are done for today. You made it. Don’t move yet, you understand me? Keep lying there and rest for a while.”

Hux moves onto the bed next to Ren, close enough to be in his space, yet not close enough to touch Ren. He looks up at me and points at his datapad. When I hand it to him he starts reading. I follow his example. For a while neither of us moves. Hux keeps his eyes on his datapad. He makes no attempt to touch Ren, who is lying motionlessly on his back next to Hux, eyes closed.

After about ten minutes Ren turns his head towards Hux. Without looking up Hux drops his hand onto the sheets and offers it to Ren. Ren lies on his side, back to me, facing Hux. He takes the hand into both of his and slowly, slowly, moves closer until he is curled around Hux. His face is pressed into Hux’s sleeve. He breathes in deeply.

Eventually Hux lays down the datapad and turns to Ren. He lays his other hand onto Ren’s head and cards it through the black curls.

“You were so good today, pet,” he says quietly. “You endured everything I asked of you. I am proud of you. Look at you, you didn’t lash out at me once. You worked so hard. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Ren answers into Hux’s sleeve. “Exhausted. But the noise has stopped. Thank you.”

Hux smiles a soft smile and continues to stroke Ren’s hair. “Next time it will be easier. I won’t have to tire you out beforehand. You will do that all on your own. Now, I think we are done here. You can go if you want. If you want to stay a bit longer, you can do that, too.”

For almost half an hour Ren doesn’t move. Hux returns to his reading, leaving his one hand still for Ren to hold on to. Then Ren loosens his grip and slowly stands up. He is barely staggering now. I offer him the glass that I have refilled with water and he takes it.

“By the way,” Hux says conversationally as Ren gets dressed. “You are losing weight again, aren’t you? How many meals have you had today?”

Ren hesitates before he answers, “One.”

Hux looks up with a slight frown. “One isn’t enough. Get something to eat right now. And if you want me to continue our sessions I need you up at three meals a day. Your training alone should make that necessary. I will monitor your intake, you hear me? No more slacking off.”

Ren very quietly responds, “Yes,” before he buckles his belt and leaves the room.

The moment he is gone, Hux lays away the datapad, tilts his head back and closes his eyes on a sigh.

“That was quite fascinating to watch,” I remark.

“I know,” Hux says. “He is extraordinary, is he not? He brings me to my own limits. And he is so very fucked up, it’s a pure joy to dig myself through all that mess. So much to work with. Well, ever since I have worked out how to administer aftercare to him in a way that works for him, I think we have made quite some progress. Have you noticed that the number of his violent outbreaks on the Base has decreased significantly?”

“I think everyone has noticed,” I say. “It takes a lot of strain off our coffers. But who administers aftercare to you, Hux?”

Hux opens his eyes and shoots me a dark look. “I don’t need aftercare. I am fine.”

“You are anything but. You are completely exhausted. You are putting yourself under severe stress while you work with him. You have been concentrating on Ren for hours now. What about you?”

“I am not doing this purely for him, you know,” Hux answers. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t see any benefits for myself.”

I shrug. “Be that as it may. You have no issues demanding all sorts of things from your subs. But when you should be asking them to support you and offer you some comfort for yourself, you shut up. You can order them for their own sake, but you can’t ask them anything for yours. You need someone to talk to, someone who can offer you some kind of relief.”

Hux gives me a tired smile. “Are you offering to be that person? Sit with me, and listen to all the crap that has been going around my head and that I cannot voice towards my subs, just like the old times?”

I stand up, refill the water, and hand it to him. “Apparently I am.”


	7. A Helpful Reminder

**Captain Phasma's Log**

Outside of those little scenes they still hate each other. They don’t hide it, either.

Since Kylo Ren is outside the official First Order hierarchy, Hux doesn’t deem it necessary to involve him in the decision making process regarding, well, practically anything. Kylo Ren doesn’t like that. He doesn’t allow anyone to override his commands, not even Hux, and he insists on being included in everything that is going on around the Base. He also assumes it as a given that his every demand will be met. Which Hux refuses to accommodate. The results shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone; they clash almost daily.

Hux complaining about Ren’s tendencies to destroy First Order property, Ren’s attempts to solve everything by Force, and Ren’s weird relationship with the Supreme Commander aren’t just for show, either, and don’t just serve the purpose of making Ren’s blood boil when he witnesses them. They are genuine. Hux’s remarks that things would run a lot more smoothly if Ren weren’t there are made in all sincerity.

One would expect him to exploit any opportunity to take out his anger on Ren. And what better opportunity than those moments when he has Ren at his mercy, helpless and in a physical and mental state, in which he would allow Hux to do virtually anything to him? I know better, of course. Hux might genuinely detest Kylo Ren and everything he stands for, just as he has had issues with subs of his in former relationships. But the moment a session begins and he starts working through his scene, none of that matters anymore. He will direct his entire concentration on his sub and he will make sure his sub is perfectly at ease. He will never do anything to intentionally hurt Ren during those scenes and he is too skilled by now to inadvertently cause damage. He might secretly plan Ren’s gruesome murder whenever he is alone, but there is no person in this Galaxy to whom I’d entrust Ren’s life and safety as willingly as to Hux. He will give his sub everything they need. He will make a true effort to get to know them during those scenes, to know what works well for them, to know what breaks them easily and what has little effect. He will never forego aftercare. He will never ignore safe words and signs. He will never leave his sub in a precarious situation. Those are his rules.

It does pay off, too. I didn’t lie when Hux asked me whether I noticed the decrease of Kylo Ren’s anger outbursts. Nobody likes them. Everybody does their best to avoid him after one of those. Yet, in recent times, they have almost vanished. As if something was giving him more emotional stability, something he direly needs as it seems. It sounds strange, I know. But Ren is not the only one on whom Hux’s sessions have had this effect.

When Hux leaves Starkiller Base for two weeks to hold conference with our financial supporters out in the Galaxy, it becomes more than obvious. The more time passes the more Ren returns to his old irritability. The slightest thing sets him off. Nobody dares say anything, of course. But the list of purchases we need to make to replace destroyed monitors, consoles, and equipment speaks volumes all on its own.

Hux is not thrilled when he returns. Apparently Ren is not the only one who has been in a foul mood these last few days. I tend to forget it, but Hux needs his little sessions just as much as his subs do. When he doesn’t get to torture someone who knows how to play their part he becomes testy. He doesn’t actually yell at people. But he starts punishing even the tiniest errors and he turns a deaf ear to even the most reasonable requests by his men.

Kylo Ren and I probably remain the only two people who are not terrified of Hux, which means the entire Base turns silent as a graveyard and busy as a beehive upon Hux’s return.

“Well, at least your sour personality gets the work done,” I remark to him as he accompanies me to inspect the on-board troops. “Nobody available for a bit of recreational torture lately?”

“I had to play nice for two weeks,” Hux responds bitterly. “Nice and humble and grateful at our generous sponsors. Two weeks! How do other people do that?”

“Do what? Show gratitude to somebody who supports them?”

“Support, pshaw! All they want is to cut themselves a piece off the Starkiller as soon as it’s ready.”

“One should think learning a bit of humility might do you some good. Well, now you’re back to your own men, all of them ready and willing to stroke your ego. We so missed you.”

“What’s with the sudden rise in expenses, by the way? What do we need all this new equipment for?”

“Well,” I say, “looks like you’re not the only one who has missed your regular playtime. _Somebody_ is back to their habit of destroying precious property with their lightsaber.”

Hux purses his lips and studies the list of expenses someone from the administration staff handed to him. “Fancy that. I suppose somebody really needs to be punished extensively.”

Hux says he doesn’t need an assistant when he clears two hours off his schedule the next day. But after walking my usual inspection routes among the men I find myself – surprisingly – with a bit of free time at my hands and so I decide to pay them a visit, anyway.

Hux doesn’t bother to be gentle this time. When I enter his room, Ren is lying on the bed, facing me. He is immobilized by broad, black pieces of cloth, wound tightly around his upper body and legs. The cloth forces his arms to his sides and envelops him in a snug sleeve, partly reassuring, partly restricting.

Ren is wearing a collar around his neck. A collar I know only too well. It is one of Hux’s favourite bondage toys, broad and soft, but unyielding. It is fitted with a special buckle that allows him to tighten the collar one millimetre at a time. It is meant to be used for choking, but since the level of tightness can be adjusted minutely, it is possible to restrict a person’s breathing partly, to allow them less and less air, still enough to keep them conscious, not enough for them to breathe freely. A button on the buckle allows for instant release should it be necessary and if that fails there is still a clasp next to the buckle, so the collar can be opened manually within one second.

The collar is obviously tightened when I enter the room. Ren’s breathing is shallow and laboured, his mouth hangs open, tongue out. The strain on his chest whenever he inhales is visible.

Hux is sitting cross-legged at Ren’s neck. He has his entire collection of metal clamps spread out around him. Half of it is already clasped to Ren’s skin along his thighs and his flank. Now Hux has started with his arm. The skin where the clamps pinch it is burning red.

Hux barely looks up as I enter. “Phasma is here, pet,” he says quietly. He strokes his hand across Ren’s upper arm, takes a fold of Ren’s skin between his fingers and adds another clamp. They hurt. I know they hurt, I have tried them once. After barely ten minutes I decided they weren’t for me. I am not sure Ren notices them. His face doesn’t give anything away. It is expressionless, eyes half closed and dark.

“You’re so weak against choking,” Hux continues. He lays his fingers on the buckle and turns it just a tiny notch to tighten the collar. Each one of Ren’s inhales is accompanied by a thin wheeze. “Remember the first time I did this to you? You panicked so easily. You really didn’t like it. I had to free you almost instantly, because I feared you’d black out. It took me a while to find out I only had to pair the choking with a bit of concentrated pain to get you distracted enough to counteract the panic. You still hate it. It is still there, just beneath the surface, pushed back by pain, but always ready to spring forward. It really is the perfect punishment for you.” Hux places index and middle finger against Ren’s wrist. “And yet your pulse is so sluggish right now, one could think you’re being perfectly calm. That’s not it, though, is it? You’re simply deep down beneath the surface. It works so fast when I take away your breath, it always leaves me baffled. The clamps pull on your flesh mercilessly. They’re damn painful, but you can’t escape that pain because the loss of air leaves you hypersensitive. The only way is to switch it all off, to opt out entirely. The return will be painful. When I release the collar and you suddenly become aware of all the clamps that devastate that beautiful skin of yours.” He brushes his fingers over the parts of Ren’s skin that aren’t covered by the fabric. For a minute the only thing audible are Ren’s rasped breaths. His face is practically colourless at this point, his lips painted in the lightest shade of blue.

Hux keeps his eyes on Ren’s face with an almost endearing smile. “How long do you think until you pass out? Five minutes? Less? You’re so very close now.” He strokes his hand across Ren’s cheek. Brushes a strand of hair from where it has fallen over Ren’s forehead. “You hate this, don’t you? Me touching you like this… no matter what I do you can’t fight back.” He moves his hand into Ren’s hair, cards it through slowly. “You hate it and yet you need it so desperately, you allow me to put you in this state. This state where you can’t fight back, where you can’t make me stop, where you have to take everything I do to you. Because this is the only time you will ever allow anyone to touch you. You crave it. It’s only human, after all, to crave the touch of another person. You’re starved for it. Each time I touch you it makes you tremble. Your entire body cries for more and now, now is the only time your mind is silent enough not to instinctively put up a fight.”

Hux keeps his touches light as he brushes the back of his hand across Ren’s cheek, follows the line of Ren’s brows with his thumb, wipes away the inevitable tears with his index finger, and presses his palm against Ren’s temple. He spends minutes just stroking Ren’s jaw and carding his hand through Ren’s hair. Finally he slides his hand slowly down to the buckle on the collar. He doesn’t press the button. Instead he loosens the collar gradually, a millimetre at a time. He gives Ren time to adjust to the change. Slowly the colour returns to Ren’s cheeks. The blue in his lips vanishes. The wheezing stops and his breathing becomes deeper. Until the point where he returns to the surface. A tremor runs through his entire body and he gasps. He squeezes his eyes shut and his face distorts as he tries to get his reaction to the pain under control.

“Welcome back, pet,” Hux says gently. “I shall leave these clamps on you a bit longer, alright? Just to make absolutely sure you understand what happens to people who destroy my monitors and frighten my men without proper cause.”

He takes off the collar entirely and Ren retches out several violent coughs. He whines in pain as the coughing pulls on his pinched skin.

Hux strokes Ren through each one of his coughing fits. Finally, after another ten minutes or so, he looks at me with a lazy smile. “Be a doll and hand me the box over there, will you?”

I take the box he uses to keep his clamps. I watch as Hux takes off each of them slowly and rubs the skin underneath while Ren’s shaking becomes softer and his breathing returns to normal.

“Good boy,” Hux praises him after the last clamp has been removed and has vanished in the box. “Never forget that every single one of your little misdemeanours will be punished one way or the other. You should know better by now than to incite my wrath. But then, you always take your punishment _so well_ , it’s like you were born purely so I could enjoy torturing you. Wouldn’t that be nice? If I could simply keep you as my pet, lead you around on a leash all day, feed you when I deem it necessary, have you bark at bad people when they deserve it, and make sure you stay well behaved and content the rest of the time. You’d make such a pretty guard dog and collars and chains fit you so well. I could even fashion you a muzzle to keep you under control.” He doesn’t stop stroking Ren’s hair. I almost expect Ren to start purring any moment. He looks peaceful, with his eyes closed, still wrapped in the strips of cloth like in a tight blanket, utterly exhausted and sweaty, but perfectly calm now. Once the clamps have been removed the relief comes almost instantly. There is no time the absence of pain feels quite as blissful as after a prolonged period of being in pain.

Eventually, though, Hux takes his hand away and loosens the constrictions. “Sit up, pet.”

Ren obeys. Hux gestures to me for the water on the nightstand and I hand it to Ren.

“Drink it and then tell me everything that has happened while I was away.”

Ren obeys again. He talks with a quiet, raspy voice. It takes me a while to understand that his throat must still be sore from the choking. It will probably remain sore for the next several days. Hux likes to call this kind of pain ‘a helpful reminder’. It will keep Ren docile, at last for a short while.

It surprises me to hear of the anger Ren has felt during the last few days. To hear that most of the anger is directed at himself. To hear him speak so openly of his feelings of helplessness. When he talks about giving in to the anger, it sounds like a mantra. Like something that was preached to him for years upon years to make sure he will never fully gain control over his emotions, to make sure that his rage always stays closely beneath the surface. There is only one person in the First Order who could have been holding this kind of power over Kylo Ren for so long.

An hour later, after Ren has left in an almost pleasant mood, I turn to Hux. “Did you know about this?”

Hux shrugs. “I try not to get involved in all this Jedi-Sith bullshit. The moment the Force gets involved it’s as if all the physical and psychological rules in the universe somehow didn’t apply anymore. Sounds like humbug to me, but who am I to argue with the logic of two of the most powerful Force-sensitives the Galaxy has ever seen?”

“He can’t help it,” I state.

“No, he really can’t.”

“And yet you punish him for it.”

“Because it works. I know I am fighting a lost battle here. But at least as long as I am the one who has to pay the bills I can try to give him enough peace of mind to keep our equipment safe.”

I sit down on the bed next to Hux and he moves a few centimetres away from me. Kylo Ren is not the only one who has issues with letting people into his personal space.

Eventually, though, Hux leans his forehead against my shoulder. “You know what would be nice right about now?” he asks. “To blow up a few planets. Just for fun. Get it out of my system. Please tell me you have found someone who has managed to fix the converter by now.”


	8. Scream For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Implied Consent: As in most BDSM scenes words that would usually withdraw consent ("no", "don't", "stop") are used within the scene as part of the play and do not mean a withdrawal of consent and a wish to end the play. There are safewords and safe-signs in place for that. You can assume that everything going on is still consensual. However, if it is triggering to you that somebody ignores words like that, even if the context makes it consensual, I suggest you skip chapters with the tag "implied consent".

**Captain Phasma's Log**

The staff sigh their relief when Kylo Ren scales down his irritability a tad and Hux returns to a more agreeable mood. They may hate and constantly complain about each other, but it is a proven fact that Kylo Ren and General Hux both work better when they are forced closely together.

Not that people aren’t still terrified of Hux. He can be gentle, he can be attentive, he can even smile, yet most of the staff still fear for their lives each time they talk to him. Hux is the kind of person who somehow manages to not only play both roles of good cop bad cop perfectly, but also to execute them simultaneously.

I watch him inquiring of the chief engineer about the energy converter a day later. The engineer, stressed enough as it is, explains to Hux that they ran all the trials and redid all their calculations three times, however, they have not found a way to successfully connect the converter to the oscillator yet.

Hux nods and pulls his lips into a thin smile. “I understand. It sounds like you have everything under control. I trust that you will find a way to fix it eventually. You may continue your work.”

And yet when he leaves the man almost sinks to his knees and starts sobbing. He stays convinced that he will be killed off over the next days. Nothing happens. Hux barely acknowledges him. He doesn’t yell, he doesn’t threaten, he doesn’t even urge. But I know that the next time they try to connect the converter to the oscillator, it will work smoothly. That is the effect Hux has on his subordinates.

Except for Kylo Ren, of course, who still doesn’t bother with playing nice. Who somehow still manages to ignore all of Hux’s commands and constantly finds ways to aggravate Hux with tiny, inadvertent jabs. Who still remains the only one on base from whom Hux can but tolerate such a behaviour.

Until one day it hits me. It happens right after Hux has reassigned one of the stormtrooper units to a training base in the Borderlands. Ren watches Hux work through the reassignment. As soon as he is done, Ren walks up to him and says, “I am afraid I need these men over the next few days for the raid on Jakku. You will have to assign them back to the Base and over to me.”

He is doing it on purpose. It becomes so very obvious when Hux lifts his head and stares at Ren wordlessly for several seconds, lips drawn into his most pissed pout. His eyes burn in a silent rage. Ren’s expression is, as always, hidden by his mask and unreadable.

“If motivation is a problem,” Ren continues, the slightest hint of smugness in his deep voice, “you can always bore them to death with one of your speeches. I am certain that should leave them grateful to be assigned over to me for a change.”

I have to admit, it leaves me a bit giddy. Ren is riling Hux up, not just by being unintentionally uncoordinated. He has planned this. Load a bit of extra work onto Hux’s shoulders. While standing here, on the bridge, where Hux can’t reasonably vent his anger on him or anyone else.

While Hux still makes a face that is caught somewhere between indigestion and murderous conniving, Ren brushes past him and leaves the bridge.

I find Kylo Ren later that day in the training area for his workout. Since it recently gives me a certain satisfaction to watch him squirm, I decide to ask him outright.

“Does he punish you for those little jabs? Is that why you do them?”

Ren turns to me and stares at me wordlessly.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I am talking about. I was watching you today. So? Does he?”

There it is again. The blush, working its way up into his cheeks. He gives me a rueful little nod.

“Is it worth it?”

He nods again.

“One should think Hux doesn’t need any extra incentive to be vindictive. I’ve wondered, you know. Not everyone who comes to Hux is prepared for the most. They ask him to start slow, they give him a list of all the things they don’t want him to do to them. There are so many things they are afraid of. And then Hux starts, and he never forces anything onto them they don’t want. He adheres to their lists. But he coaxes them. He pushes them. He is masterful at persuasion. He gets them to allow him to do things to them they never would have dreamed they might agree to. And I thought maybe that was his way with you. That he just wanted to go to the extremes for once with someone who could bear it. Yet here you are, pushing him. Teasing it out of him. Is it fun?”

Ren looks at me and for one moment a draw appears in the corners of his lips that could almost be a smile. “Yes. He so loves to berate me for it and he is such an excellent talker as long as he has enough issues to complain about.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Ren adds. “The part about him being an excellent talker.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. He really doesn’t need his ego stroked any more than it already is.”

 

Hux doesn’t get angry at his subs. Anger, as he puts it, is an irrational, reactive emotion and has no place in his scenes. Instead, he pours all the energy of his rage against Ren into devising an appropriate punishment. He can get quite creative with that.

For now he has decided to go with the most conventional form of doling out pain. He is making use of the torture chambers once again and has chained Ren to the chair, though, once again, not in the way the chair was intended. Instead, Ren is kneeling in front of it, arms locked in the armrests at the wrist, though in the opposite direction, back, arse, and thighs exposed. The footrest forces his legs apart at the knees.

Next to the chair Hux has his two instruments ready; a flogger with soft leather straps for warm-up, and a bullwhip, showing signs of long years of use at the handle, for the actual punishment. For now he is standing at the backrest of the chair where Ren can see him and dangles a curious little wire construction in front of Ren’s eyes.

“Braces,” he says conversationally. “Now, they look a bit painful, fact is they are not. They work similarly to a gag; they’ll make you drool a bit, not as much as the rod, but still. You can talk with braces, but if you don’t articulate your words carefully your speech will sound slurred. And of course they look utterly humiliating. Funny little instrument, are they not? I am not going to use them now. I don’t want to restrict your speech today. Instead, I want you to learn a bit of humility when you address me in public. How about you wear them tomorrow? Put them on in the morning; take them off in the evening. Wear them on the bridge and while working with the men. Since you insist on keeping that ridiculous mask on, anyway, nobody will see them. If you speak carefully enough, nobody will notice the difference. Except that someone still might. Or that something, some emergency, might force you to remove that mask. Unlikely, I know, but live with that fear for a day. Walk around for a day in restraints I put on you, stay aware of all I can do to you if you don’t comply, and hope – _pray_ – that no one will find you out.”

Hux lays the braces on the tray next to the chair. “Now. Back to our current session. It sounds easy enough, doesn’t it, just a regular old whipping to remind you that my time is precious and if you chose to waste it there will be consequences. Except that today I want to hear you. I know you can take it without a noise. You can bite it all down, my brave little soldier. Don’t. Cry. Scream for me. Let me know that what I am doing to you hurts. Let me hear that you’re in agony. Beg me to take mercy on you and if you manage to sound convincing enough I might just be satisfied and let off of you.”

Hux turns around to cast me a glance. “And always remember that we are not alone. You have audience. Give Phasma a show, will you? She will be watching every stroke I dole out to you and all you can do is take it, knowing that her eyes are glued to your sweet little arse while it turns red and sore.”

I look up from the rosters I am working on and raise my eyebrows at Hux. I don’t say a word. It is part of his play and since I am here I am playing a role, too. Hux grins at me.

He takes up the flogger and slaps it against his own palm once. The crack sounds loudly through the small chamber. Ren flinches. Hux begins gently, with soft strokes that are meant to warm up whip and flesh and prepare Ren for what is about to come. He leaves several seconds between each lash to allow Ren time to recover. Ren doesn’t make a single noise. Not even his breathing changes. After the first few whips the flinches cease as well. Hux slowly increases the force. He covers Ren’s arse, thighs, and shoulders down to the point where the ribs end. Slowly the skin beings to redden.

“You don’t like it, do you, pet,” Hux says calmly without ceasing his strokes. “The idea of giving mouth to indicate you’re in pain. You have trained for so long to stay silent. You have been conditioned to keep quiet, to endure. Crying out means admitting. It means giving in to your weakness. You take pride in your stoicism. And now I want you to throw all of that away and to let me hear your sweet voice. How very cruel of me indeed.” He puts enough force behind the blow to push Ren against the chair. Ren has lowered his head between his shoulder blades, yet he still does not make a sound. “Sing for me, little bird. It will feel so much better if you do. Sing. Cry. Stop locking away your voice. Do you have any idea how sweet it sounds when you cry out? Do you know how much it turns me on to hear you whine? Especially since I know that it is I who makes you cry in pain. I am the one who tears all those beautiful little noises out of your throat, until you can’t control them anymore and they just come tumbling out. Try. Cry for me, little bird.”

He raises the flogger and deals a blow to Ren’s thighs that pushes Ren’s hips against the chair.

The first moan falls from his lips almost inaudibly. Hux has heard it nevertheless.

“What was that?” he asks with a bit of glee in his voice. “You will have to get louder than that if you want me to acknowledge your effort, pet.”

He wields the flogger again and Ren moans again, a bit louder this time.

“Phasma, did you hear anything?” Hux asks without turning to me.

“Nothing,” I answer.

The next lash draws a full-blown moan from Ren’s lips.

“Better,” Hux says charitably. He lays down the flogger, takes off his jacket and puts it aside. He brushes a few strands of hair from his own forehead, which is glistening with sweat by now. Then he takes up the bullwhip.

“Now this might hurt a bit more,” he warns Ren. “In fact, it can hurt quite a lot. Don’t feel the need to hold back. Let it all out. I have yet to hear you cry. This session won’t be over until I have you crying and begging in front of me.”

On the first stroke Ren lets out a soft cry. He himself seems surprised by it. He cuts it off abruptly and stays silent over the next two blows.

“Don’t hold out on me now, pet,” Hux croons. “Let me hear that again. I have yet to find a sweeter sound in this Galaxy than your voice when it is drunk with pain and pleasure. Scream for me.”

The next stroke Ren cries out louder. For a while he alternates between silence, suppressed hisses, and cries. Each time he raises his voice Hux puts more pressure behind his lashes and coaxes Ren to cede more reactions to him. Ren’s skin has turned a flaming red. He takes hits to his shoulders almost silently, while hits to his butt cheeks and his thighs make him cry out more easily, so Hux concentrates on them. Hux doesn’t take his eyes off Ren. He wields the whip with controlled force. If he hit the wrong spots or used the whip ineptly he could cause serious damage. With things as they are his strokes are bound to sting painfully, probably even take the breath from someone with a lower pain threshold, but none of the bruises will take more than two days to heal fully. Eventually Ren cries out each time Hux cracks the whip. His voice reverberates richly in the chamber. I begin to understand why Hux has decided on a sound-proof place for this session.

The dam has been broken. Hux has successfully coaxed the shame away that has held Ren back. His cries turn into screams.

“Good,” Hux hums. “So you can sing, after all. Still, all I am hearing yet is the melody. What about the lyrics?”

He deals another blow to Ren’s thighs and Ren screams again. Hux lets a few seconds pass, before he lifts the whip again.

“No!”

The whip comes down on Ren’s buttocks and he screams.

“Say that again, pet,” Hux purrs.

“Please,” Ren whines. “Please don’t.”

Hux cracks the whip again and Ren screams again.

“Don’t what, pet?”

“Don’t… don’t whip me again…”

Another lash. Another scream. High-pitched, rich and sweet with pain and humiliation.

“Why?” Hux asks. “Tell me why you don’t want me to whip you again, pet.”

“It hurts,” Ren whimpers. “It throbs all over. I am so sore already, so…”

Hux doesn’t relent the lashes. “Sore enough to still feel it tomorrow?” he presses gently. “Because I want you to remember with every one of your steps what I did to you.”

“I will,” Ren cries between two strokes. He is playing along and splendidly so. “I will remember. I will think of you the entire day. I will wear the braces, too. _Please_. I am not trying to escape, _please_ …”

“You will wear the braces? Flinch in time with every single step you take? I want you to feel it. I want you to feel the entire day as though I were still touching you. Gripping you, holding you, showing everyone exactly how disobedient you have been...”

“Everything... You can put me in chains if you want...”

“What about your throat?” Hux prods without mercy. He cracks the whip again without softening the force even an ounce. “Have you screamed it sore yet? You don’t sound hoarse to me, we will need to work on that…”

He continues to work on that, draws screams right out of Ren’s chest, lashes him through begging and pleads until he has tired himself out so completely he can barely lift his own arm anymore. Ren is panting heavily by now, whimpering into the chair. His skin is burning red and angrily from the rough treatment.

“I’m not sure this is enough as punishment for you yet,” Hux finally says, out of breath. “Do you feel punished?”

“Yes,” Ren whimpers. “I was bad. But please, _please_ don’t punish me anymore.”

“You want me to take mercy on you?”

“Yes, mercy, please…”

“Do you deserve it, though,” Hux says quietly. He runs the braided leather thong through the palm of his free hand. “Do you deserve to be forgiven already? You sound remorseful, certainly, but is it enough for true forgiveness…?”

“I don’t deserve it,” Ren whispers. He stills. And then a loud sob shakes his whole body. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry anymore. No… please don’t do this! It was my fault, it was all my fault, I was weak! I failed, I made you angry… I will do better next time, please… forgive me…” His voice is barely audible over the sobs that convulse his whole body and leave him heaving. “I will, I will kill them all… I will die for you, I will fight until my very end… I couldn’t… I am better now, I can do it now, but please… forgive me…”

Within an instant Hux has dropped the whip and flicked open the locks that hold Ren’s wrists. He sinks to the floor, pulls Ren into his arms, buries his hand deep inside Ren’s hair, and presses Ren’s face into his shoulder. His other hand comes around Ren’s waist where the skin is untouched, and pulls Ren as tightly into his arms as he can.

“I forgive you. It’s all well, you did well. I forgive you. I am not angry anymore. Shhh, it’s all over now, calm down. You don’t have to be afraid, my love, I am here. I won’t go anywhere. I will stay with you. You’re forgiven. You were strong, so very, very strong. I am proud of you. Shhh, it’s okay. It’s over. You made it.”

Hux strokes his hand through the black curls and rocks the sobbing Ren in his arms back and forth. Ren’s fingers have wound themselves tightly into Hux’s shirt. He has stopped rambling, but the sobs won’t cease. Hux lowers his face over Ren’s head and presses his mouth into the soft hair.

“My dearest love, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Calm down now. I won’t hurt you. I am here, I won’t let go. You can rest now. Rest.”

Hux continues to stroke and to rock Ren until the sobs slowly die down and the violent shaking softens into a tremble. Then he lifts his head and stares at me, eyes wide in dismay.

I return the stare with a shrug. I stand up and get the healing salve out of Hux’s bag. It is thick and oily and it smells richly of herbs and honey.

I place it on the floor next to Hux.

Then I leave the room.

 

Several hours later Hux comes into my own chamber. I have been sitting at my desk for the last few hours, trying in vain to muster enough concentration to work through the troop rosters on the Stardestroyers.

Without invitation Hux kicks off his boots and drops onto my bed. He folds his arms beneath his head and stares at the ceiling. I turn in my chair to face him.

“How is he?” I ask.

“Surprisingly well, I’d say,” Hux answers. “After he had calmed down he let me treat the bruises and clean him off. He didn’t talk much after that, but he responded well to my talking, so I did that for a while. When I finally released him he seemed almost cheerful. I don’t think he was in the mental state to fake that.”

I rest my eyes on Hux for a while. “Well, whatever it was that you triggered there, maybe he needed to get it off his chest.”

Hux purses his lips. “Still. I don’t like it when things like that happen. Abandonment issues, low self-esteem, anger issues, that I can deal with. But a death wish… this is more than what I bargained for. How can I be expected to indulge in the pleasure of torturing him when he goes ahead and reveals that?”

I say nothing. I watch Hux as he furrows his brows and stares into nothing.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he yells. Suddenly he shoots upright. “Fuck, this was not supposed to happen! He was playing along so well, it was going so well… I cracked him, Phasma, I got him right to the point where I wanted him. And right when I think it can’t get any more delicious than that he overshoots the mark by a parsec and ruins it all!”

“It happens,” I say. “Now you know to stay away from it.”

Hux shakes his head. “He said he liked it. He said he fucking liked it. That I made him scream. That I _allowed_ him to scream. He said it felt good, not having to hold back for once in his life. To scream and to cry and to beg. He likes that. He’s the perfect submissive. Just enough of a challenge to keep it entertaining, and just ready enough to be dominated with a little bit of controlled pressure. I can’t give that up now.”

“Then don’t,” I say. “He is not the first person with issues you’ve encountered. You know how to deal with it.”

Hux sinks back down onto the bed and covers his eyes with his arm. “He’s a bloody minefield,” he mutters. “I never know when he goes off. It was the same with the caressing. It wasn’t even part of a scene, did you know that? I was trying to administer aftercare. How hard could it be? He had withstood spanking, lashes, and a bit of knife-play, after all. All that was left to do was to give him some gentle caring before I sent him on his way. He can deal with touch as long as he is prepared for it and as long as it’s rough. Neither of us were prepared for what happened when I laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to pull him in. That was the first time he Force-threw me against the wall. All I could do after that was talk him down. It took me a few sessions to figure out how to give him proper aftercare. It made me very anxious. When I tried tenderness during one of the scenes, it happened again. He promised he’d try to hold himself back and endure it. But he hates it so much, he can barely control himself. That’s when I first suggested getting an assistant on board. Just in case he knocked me out and needed someone to free him. He didn’t like the idea at first. I had to lay into him for quite a while before he even considered you. But then luckily you took the bait and started working your own magic with him.”

I am barely surprised at that revelation. Hux constantly works his little schemes to manipulate people. He prefers not to leave anything to chance. And though he might not care for pain, he certainly won’t shrink back from a challenge merely because of the prospect of getting hurt.

“Maybe I should start torturing prisoners, after all,” he mutters. “At least if they give away crucial secrets I can use those against them guilt-free.”

“Do that,” I answer. “Who knows, maybe some of them will even cry for you.”

Hux sits up. “Great. Get me someone, will you? I managed to break Kylo Ren, how hard can it be to break someone who calls himself ‘Resistance’?”

 

I pay close attention to Kylo Ren the next day. He is wearing his mask as always, and there is nothing about his conduct that would give it away. Except that he is even more taciturn than usually and that when he does speak, it is quietly, slowly, and very carefully.

I can’t help myself. I chose to be part of Hux’s play and maybe he is rubbing off on me, but I cannot resist the itch to torment Ren a little bit.

“Sir,” I say as I approach him, “I think there is a bloodstain on your mask, just above the eye. You might want to take it off and clean it.”

Ren turns his head towards me and stays silent for a few seconds.

“I mean it, Sir,” I taunt. “It is very distracting. The staff might become frightened.”

“I think you are spending decidedly too much time with him,” Ren says calmly. A part of me is relieved to hear him talk like that. He seems to have overcome his break down from the day before.

I smile at him as innocently as I can muster. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but really, why hide your beautiful face behind a soiled mask?”

Ren turns around and walks away.


	9. Don't Touch Me

**Captain Phasma's Log**

Resistance pilots, as it turns out, are hard to come by and even harder to keep. It also turns out that Hux still doesn’t like conventional torture where his victims want nothing more than for the torture to end and where they scream endlessly, even though Hux has not allowed them to. And that Kylo Ren is much better at coaxing information out of an uncooperative mind, anyway.

Eventually Hux can’t stay away from Ren. Especially after the setback with the droid and the map. I could go on about that, but long story short, Kylo Ren is not in a good place and all too willing to subject himself to Hux’s treatment, whatever that may entail. Hux, naturally, cannot resist.

He asks me to assist him, but since he is an egocentric bastard he schedules the session around 18:00, the exact time I start my rounds. I promise to join them later. Maybe. Of course I do.

Hux is back in the torture chambers, though not the first one, with the high-end equipment. This time he uses number 3.5, the one that really doesn’t deserve the euphemism ‘information retrieval chamber’. It is not only old, but also still fitted for techniques that are reserved for the most resilient prisoners. It still has a gutter network on the floor to drain the blood. It also happens to be sturdier than all the other chambers and it shows. Scratches and dents in the wall tell of former prisoners that were anything but human and strong enough to break out of any other room.

When I enter the chamber my breath hitches in the hot, sweltering air, saturated with the sticky sweet smell of blood. The temperature is above comfortable. Hux is down to a short-sleeved shirt and still sweating heavily. The light in the chamber burns weakly with a nervous flicker.

It takes me a while to get used to the atmosphere and to discern Ren. He is hanging in chains on the wall, lowered down onto his knees, arms spread, wrists chained up, head hanging low. His entire body is covered in a film of sweat. It quickly becomes clear why Hux has decided on a room with a blood drain. A series of cuts opens up Ren's shoulders, his upper and lower arms, and his chest down almost to his belly. They are shallow, but in the heat the blood still flows freely in streams down his entire body and collects on the floor around him.

I let out a gasp of shock. “Hux, what the fuck are you doing? You’re killing him!”

Hux casts me a quick glance. “You’re exaggerating greatly,” he responds. He is holding the knife that has caused the wounds; a thin, sharp blade twinkling in the weak light with a bronze tint. He doesn’t seem bothered in the least by the soft wheezes in Ren’s breath, the tremors that run through his body, or the slack in his muscles as he hangs in the chains motionlessly. He looks barely conscious.

“You have taken it too far,” I chide. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Ren doesn’t properly indicate when he is brought to his limits and Hux always likes to push his subs. A bad combination.

I kneel down in front of Ren. His skin is flushed. The smell of blood is almost overwhelming. I reach out one hand to feel his pulse.

“Don’t.” Ren lifts his head and stares at me from beneath the black curls dripping with sweat. His eyes burn. “Don’t touch me.” I recoil on instinct. My chest contracts painfully in fright. I withdraw my hand. If I were to lay it on Ren, I’d be fairly certain to lose it.

“That is right,” Hux remarks. “He might be weak against choking, but he is practically indestructible with knifes and blood-play. I can carve into him like into a pumpkin and he barely minds.” He kneels down in front of Ren. “Also, don’t touch my sub without my permission, Phasma. I may have forbidden him to harm me, but if he lashes out against you that is on you alone. I am not going to punish him for that.”

He lays his hand on Ren’s cheek and strokes it gently. He trails his fingers down Ren’s chest until they rest on Ren’s thigh. Ren is covered in a piece of cloth around his waist and nothing more. He doesn’t resist Hux’s hand. Even in his nearly delirious state he can discern perfectly between his Dom, who has to be obeyed, and everyone else. Kylo Ren still would never submit to any other person, not even while chained to a wall and bleeding.

“What do you say, pet?” Hux hums. “Think you can take some more?”

“Yes,” Ren croaks. Hux positions the tip of the knife at the inside of Ren’s thigh, right where his white skin peaks out from the loincloth. He drags it slowly down the thigh. It leaves a thin red line in its trail. Ren moans helplessly into the cut. He hangs his head again. Hux lays his free hand around Ren’s neck. His thumb brushes over the soft spot below Ren’s ear.

“Good,” Hux whispers. “My sweet love, if only you could hear yourself.” He leans forward and presses his mouth against Ren’s collarbone. When he straightens back up his lips are smeared with Ren’s blood. He licks it off. “You really needed this, didn’t you? You were so close to breaking. What would you have done? Destroyed that man? The Resistance pilot... or destroyed yourself? Hold on a bit longer, pet. Stay with me a little longer. I won’t find another toy as delightful to play with as you that easily. I’ll do to you whatever you want. I will keep you in chains, my wild wolf, keep you in chains in my room, muzzled and choked if I need to. Feed you from my mouth and keep you docile with tender pettings here and there. Just enough so you won’t try to run away.” He sets the knife onto Ren’s other thigh and draws another cut. Blood spills from the wound, red on white skin. “In exchange I will protect you. I will make sure that no one can harm you. That no one gets to talk down on you, shame you, degrade you, except me. Make sure I am the only one who gets to punish you when you’ve been bad, and feed you praise whenever you have done your best.”

Hux carefully lays the knife onto the floor. He takes Ren’s face into both hands and tilts it up a bit. Ren has closed his eyes. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and pearl down the crook of his nose. Black curls spill around his cheekbones, down into his neck. His red, broad lips hang half open as he draws laboured breath after laboured breath into his mouth. Long black lashes cast ink splotches of shadow onto his cheeks. If it weren’t for the heat the cuts on his arms and chest should long have stopped bleeding. As it is, tiny droplets still make their way down into Ren’s lap on rivers of red. They mingle with the blood on his thighs and sink into the rutted floorboards.

“You’re so unhappy right now,” Hux says quietly. His fingers press into Ren’s neck where Ren’s pulse is fluttering. “It agonizes you that the weapon is ready, doesn’t it? You don’t want me to use it. My poor love, I wish it was that simple. How simple would it be if I could decide not to tell him right away and bide my time, a few more months, maybe a few more years. But if I don’t tell him, somebody else will. I know, I know, you’d think they are all so terrified of me, who would dare go behind my back? The truth is, even though they are all beneath me, there are enough men in the First Order who would betray me for a dime. If I slack off I am done for. Who knows who will take my place? I can’t protect you once I’m dead, because let’s face it, they won’t content themselves simply with demoting me. I have to report.”

Hux keeps his hand on Ren’s neck and continues stroking Ren’s head with the other. He is leaning so close that his forehead almost touches Ren’s. Ren tilts his head to lean into Hux’s hand. He turns his face a bit, nuzzles his cheek against the palm. Hux keeps his hand still. Only his thumb continues to caress the heated, flushed skin on Ren’s face.

“What I can promise you, pet,” Hux says quietly, “is that I’ll be there once it’s over. I won’t leave your side. I will find you and I will keep you from completely destroying yourself. Because you feel it, don’t you? I have been suspecting for a while now. There is a certain pattern to when you seek me out. It’s usually either when you have had a setback or – and that one I couldn’t explain to myself at first – when things go well and you have destroyed whomever you have pursued. Now, I’d be the first person to tell you that your obsession with the Force is nonsense. Even I can’t deny one thing, though. You feel them die. It gnaws its way inside you and it sits there and you think you have to allow it to happen, because of all your dark side nonsense. All the while it nibbles away parts of you. You feel death more strongly than anyone else. Which is a bit ironic since you also happen to be better than anyone else at bringing death. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of keeping balance. Of making sure that no matter how skilled you are to dole out punishment, you will always feel its burden more heavily than anyone else.”

Hux lowers his head to Ren’s arm. He draws his tongue along one of the cuts and licks off the blood. “Small wonder you dread the moment you feel them die. No, not just die. Be killed in violence. You would never confess it to anyone. You’re not supposed to feel affected by it, are you? If only you could command your heart to stop beating, my love. You would do it, wouldn’t you? You’d hope it would finally stop the pain.”

Hux presses his forehead against Kylo Ren’s. Ren doesn’t say anything. From the way he tilts his head and swallows from time to time I can tell that he is still conscious. From the way a slight frown steals across his brow I can tell that he is listening intently.

“Don’t,” Hux murmurs. His voice is barely more than a low hum, a rumbling deep within his throat, like the heavy engine of a Stardestroyer. “I won’t allow you to leave yet. I can make the pain go away, if only for a little while. Trust me. Don’t run from the pain. Leave it to me. Rest now. I will untie you in a minute and I will take care of your cuts.”

“Leave them,” Ren responds, half in trance. “I want them to stay on me. To know you were there each time I see them.”

Hux moves his hand from Ren’s cheek to his chin and brushes a thumb across Ren’s lips.

“As you wish.”

 

Hux takes care of the cuts nevertheless. He opens the shackles and takes the wet cloth I hand him. Slowly, carefully, he wipes away the blood and the sweat in tender strokes. He starts at Ren’s arms, moves on to his shoulders and chest and lastly his thighs. He cleans his own hands thoroughly, before he takes up the healing salve.

“It’s unbearably hot in here, isn’t it,” he muses as he unscrews the lid. “Let’s get it back to room temperature.”

I lower the setting on the thermostat and a few minutes later the sweltering heat subsides. As the air vent picks up circulation the smell of blood becomes less penetrating. Instead the calming, rich scent of the salve spreads across the room. Hux applies it to all the cuts and to Ren’s wrist where they show chafing from the shackles. Since Hux knows how to use soft cloth to prevent chafing I can only assume Ren asked for it.

As soon as he is done with the salve I hand Hux the bandages. He winds them carefully around Ren’s skin. He is trained in field first aid as is the rest of us, but his real experience stems from his years upon years of inflicting pain and voluntary torture onto his subs. He knows exactly what kinds of reactions to expect in a person; skin tone, breathing, pupil dilation, pulse, blood pressure, movements… He knows how a person reacts healthily and which reactions mean he has to stop and reverse immediately.

Once Ren is bandaged Hux takes his overcoat from a tray and lays it around Ren’s shoulders. He sits down on the floor and leans against the wall, Ren sitting between his legs, Ren’s head against his chest. He unscrews a bottle of water and tips it against Ren’s lips, lets him take a sip, takes it away for a minute, lets him take another sip. He repeats that until the bottle is mostly empty. He drinks the rest himself, his free hand around Ren’s shoulders in a gesture that is equally protective and possessive. Ren doesn’t seem to mind. Overall he seems oddly at peace with relying onto Hux for a change. He leans into the arm around his shoulders; and when Hux laces his fingers through Ren’s, he responds to the gesture and offers up his hand.

“Come to me, pet,” Hux says quietly. “Whenever you need to. Before you self-destruct. Before you do something rash that will haunt you later. Before you do something you might regret for the rest of your life, come to me.”

Ren lifts his face from Hux’s shoulder. Hux bows down the slightest bit and for a moment slants his mouth against Ren’s lips.

“You can’t protect me,” Ren whispers.

Hux tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. His thumb absently strokes Ren’s jaw. “Pet, I have a planet-pulverising super-weapon at my disposal. There is nothing I cannot do.”

 

Apparently Ren is indestructible, since an hour after Hux has unlocked him from the chains he leaves the chamber dressed and in control of all his limbs. He barely seems to feel the cuts.

I assist Hux in cleaning up the floor. He washes and sterilizes the knife thoroughly. I accompany him back into his own quarters and wait at his desk while he showers and gets himself into new clothes that aren’t stained with sweat.

“It always looks worse than it is,” Hux says as he steps back into the room. “You don’t remember because I rarely used my knives that extensively in my own dorm room at the Academy. And since knife-play is the one activity that tends to leave visible marks for several days there weren’t many people who were willing to engage in it, what with the physical training each day and all. He lost maybe two hundred millilitres. Any blood donation takes more than double that.”

I look up at him. I feel a bit sheepish. I know what a great blood loss looks like. I should not have overreacted at the sight of that. “It wasn’t the blood itself. He just looked so wrangled. I was certain he’d pass out any minute.”

“He was in subspace.” Hux sits down on his bed and rests his eyes on the case with his knives lying open next to him. “Deep, deep down under. You tore him out of it. He needed it, after he had spent the last few days tormenting himself with worries and self-doubt. He really needed to let go. And there is something about blood… nothing makes him quite as submissive as bleeding. It makes him needy. The things I found out while cutting him… that he likes it when I stroke his hair or his jaw, that he likes listening to my heartbeat, that his lips like caressing, all of that he revealed to me only when I bled him. Usually he shrinks away from it, but get him into the right state of mind and he can actually begin to enjoy it.”

“Right,” I say. I didn’t mean to bring it up, but since Hux has offered already… “So you kissing him and calling him ‘love’… that was completely meaningless, was it?”

Hux waves his hand dismissively. “A spur-of-the-moment thing. Everything’s allowed within a scene.”

Except that Hux doesn’t do spur-of-the-moment things. “It’s okay, you know. If you feel like you want to pursue that…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Phasma. Do I look like I have time for any more complications?”

“I just happened to think you have been turning a tad possessive recently.”

“I am a possessive man. Once something’s mine I do not like giving it up again.”

I eye him sharply. Hux tends to overestimate his own reach greatly. “Kylo Ren is not yours.”

“I have cut him. I have tasted his blood. I have taken his breath away and heard him cry. All of that he let me do willingly. A part of him belongs to me.”

“Not the part that matters,” I say. It is futile, arguing with Hux about these things. Yet if I don’t do it, nobody else will. “Not the part the First Order needs, neither the part the Supreme Leader commands. Not the part that will lead him to triumph over Luke Skywalker.”

Hux groans. “Don’t even start with that bloke. Fuck the Jedi. What do I care about an old man who has turned his back to the Galaxy? He sits on some planet nobody even remembers, wasting his time staring at the stars. What difference does it make whether he lives or dies? Here we have a man with the ability to read the enemy’s mind, to immobilize people and to move objects a thousand times his own mass with a wave of his hand. And what do we use him for? To find one person who clearly doesn’t want to get involved and who will probably die of old age within the next few years, anyway. The whole First Order would be better off if I were able to turn Kylo Ren’s energy into a more useful direction.”

Hux can be an idiot sometimes. “So what you are trying to tell me is that you don’t actually care for him in the least and all you want is control over his powers?”

Hux purses his lips. “You know, that puts it quite nicely.”

A huge, frustrating, daft-as-a-brick idiot. “If you say so.”


	10. Epilogue

**Captain Phasma's Log**

There is feeling frustrated because of minor setbacks on the path to ultimate victory and bleeding from shallow cuts as a way to deal with stress, and there is accidentally getting your hyper-expensive super-weapon blown up, killing a person no one could have guessed to be your father, and bleeding from almost lethal wounds inflicted by a girl nobody even knew was Force-sensitive.

No one is in the mood for talking. The journey to the Supreme Commander will take a few days. Within these days Kylo Ren will hopefully heal enough to withstand whatever the Leader has planned for him.

Except that he has been staring at the wall with unseeing eyes in a way that doesn’t make it quite clear whether healing is even still an option. Physically, yes. He will wear scars on his shoulder, his abdomen, and across his face for the rest of his life. But his skin will mend. His blood will replenish. The pain will recede.

The rest… I barely have the capacities to think about the rest. Things went south so quickly and there is Hux who has been in a similarly catatonic state for the past thirty-six hours… I have never seen Hux as dispirited as he is now. He doesn’t seem to hold any desire to act or strategize. He certainly isn’t in a place from where he could offer comfort to Kylo Ren. At least Hux knows when he has reached his limit and doesn’t try to impose himself onto his subs when chances are high that he might inadvertently cause them damage.

When I visit medbay to check up on Ren twelve hours later, however, I find Hux slumped in the chair next to Ren’s bed.

He barely looks up when he sees me.

“I promised,” he says to Ren with a grated voice. “I promised not to leave you alone. Of course by now you have managed to do virtually any deed you might deeply regret later, which happens to be the exact thing I warned you not to do, but hey, I guess I’ll just join that club.”

Hux tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

For several minutes the only sounds in the room stem from the machine next to Ren’s bed, providing him with fluids and medication, and from the soft rustling of the bedcovers from time to time. When Kylo Ren speaks, his voice is so feeble I have to strain my ears to understand his words. “You can’t save me.”

Hux doesn’t answer. He opens his eyes and stares at the grey ceiling, fatigue and exhaustion edged into every line of his face.


End file.
